


A God Among Bowtruckles

by CosmicCthulhu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bowtruckle (Harry Potter), Duelling, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character(s), Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicCthulhu/pseuds/CosmicCthulhu
Summary: “Why” Malfoy asked, angry, bewildered, concerned and amazed at the same time, “Are you pretending to be a God?”“Huh” Hermione hesitated. “It’s a hobby?”Or: Hermione will always go an extra mile to fight for a cause she believes in, and Draco is having none of it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	A God Among Bowtruckles

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, and this work is unbeta'd so all errors are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

He found her in the middle of a German forest, miles away from any sort of human civilization, be it wizarding or muggle. 

But she was surrounded by dozens of creatures of the woods. Bowtruckles, to be exact. And some deer, magpies, foxes and that ancient half-kneazle that Draco was pretty sure was immortal at that point, too.

She looked beautiful. 

Dressed in a plain white linen dress, with her waist wrapped in a pale blue shawl. There were wildflowers woven in her dark brown hair, forming a delicate and colorful crown. She was wearing a ceramic mask, crafted to look like a white deer with golden antlers, with such intricate detail that it was hard to say for sure if it had been a human creation at all.

She looked like a goddess.

By the way she was lying, safely nested on the hollow tree stump, basking at the few rays of sunshine that bled through the thick leaves of the trees nearby, with her chest rising and falling in an even and slow rhythm, she almost looked like she was peacefully sleeping, but her deep brow eyes were visible through the holes of the mask. And she was warily watching Draco encroach upon her bucolic oasis.

Maybe she was a goddess?

The bowtruckles at her feet and perched on the vine-covered trees huddled closer, in a strange and captivating dance and a high pitched, but not unpleasant song. Some rushed to her side with offerings of fruits, honeycombs and even thick and sturdy branches that they must have come across in the sleepy forest.

The woman would accept the offerings with mirth on her eyes ( _ and a genuine smile, Draco supposed, but her lips were concealed under the mask, so he couldn’t be sure. _ ), and then she would promptly distribute the gifts with the other creatures that surrounded her.

Not a goddess, then. There’s no deity in the celtic or european pantheon that would be rude enough to refuse a gift given out of devotion and admiration. 

After all, this was Hermione Granger. Despite her elaborate attire.

The wizard approached the masked witch with a confident stride and raised eyebrows. He only had a single question on his mind, ever since he determined the true nature of the human perched on the tree stump. Hermione watched him stepping forward, but made no effort to stop him or to run away, looking sheepish through her disguise, instead. 

“Why” Draco asked, angry, bewildered, concerned and amazed at the same time, “Are you pretending to be a God?”

“Huh” Granger hesitated. “It’s a hobby?”

“Granger!” Draco insisted. “Do you have any idea how troublesome it was to hunt you down?”

Very troublesome was the answer Draco would give, if she were to say ‘ _ no _ ’.

\-----

It had been an assignment, handed to him by his boss and the Head of The Auror Department: Harry Potter himself. ‘ _ She has been missing for almost two days now, Malfoy _ .’ The green-eyed man had told him, several days ago.  _ ‘I can’t go look for her myself, but I can send my best auror to find her! _ ’

So Draco knew he couldn’t refuse the mission, unless he fancied being unemployed. 

It was a bit ( _ or perhaps ver _ y) satisfying though, to see the Boy-Who-Lived practically beg him for his outstanding services as a detective. 

But as it had been stated before, tracking down Granger had been extremely troublesome. 

The wizard had spent three days and three nights searching for the witch’s whereabouts. At first, he even joked with himself, imagining that he’d find her holled up in the archives of the Ministry, or even in the Hogwarts’ library, but obviously that wasn’t the case. 

He had read old letters that she had sent to friends and colleagues, hoping any would have an address or a clue regarding any locations she could have run off to. 

He had searched her tiny office in the Ministry of Magic, opening all the drawers and checking on all the books that could have aided him in his effort. 

He had travelled to Australia, to see if maybe Hermione had managed to restore her parents' memories ( _ he was disappointed to notice that she wasn’t there, and that the muggle couple still only responded to Wendell and Monica Wilkins.).  _

Hell, he had even gotten himself a bloodhound, especially trained to locate lost and missing magical creatures. 

All for naught. It had been like the witch had gotten spirited away, with not even a strand of hair to attest her existence on that planet.

It was by pure luck that Draco had stumbled upon that specific German forest. 

He had to travel to Munich to attend a fancy pureblood society’s gala his mother had insisted upon. And in there, whilst eavesdropping on a group of young intellectuals much like himself, Draco had caught a tale of a strange forest nymph, that danced, sang and frolicked around the woods with her gaggle of bowtruckles companions treating her like their goddess.

A tale so bizarre, Granger just HAD to be somehow involved.

Inspecting further, Draco managed to narrow down the forest where this supposed nymph resided. But even after he had discovered the location, his journey was still far too troublesome for his tastes.

At the very beginning of his hike through the woods he encountered obstacles. There were inexplicable holes littering the ground, covered and hidden by fallen leaves and sticks, which weren’t deep enough to make the wizard fall and injure himself gravely, but they were deep enough to soil his clothes and ruin his expensive shoes. 

Branches and tree roots seemed to move and purposely hinder the man’s path, sprouting suddenly from the floor, like wooden snakes, ready to strike at him, or whacking him in the head and face, even when there was no wind present to move the taller branches.

There had even been an incident with a red fox and a crow, apparently working together with the intention of harassing him endlessly. The fox somehow managed to steal one of his dragonhide shoes, and proceeded to thoroughly gnaw on the leather, while the crow got a hold of his silk tie, and almost succeeded in strangling the poor man altogether, leaving him with the clothing around his neck battered and torn apart.

Draco almost decided to give up his search for Granger then and there, but now he felt like his honour and his dignity were at stakes. ( _ And truthfully, his honour had already gotten down a hole when he had been outsmarted by a fox, but he was just going to omit these facts or lie about it later anyway. _ )

He marched on the forest path, this time, avoiding the perilous holes, ignoring the whacking branches, and glaring so menacingly at the fauna, that it actually stopped the animals from approaching and trying anything against the wizard out of pure fear.

And the ceasing of these targeted attacks finally allowed Draco to listen to a soft and pleasant song hummed by a procision nearby. And as Draco followed the merry tune, he was led into the clearing, in which he caught the sight of Granger, disguised as a masked goddess ( _ because that was her hobby, apparently! _ ).

\-----

‘ _ Do you have any idea how troublesome it was to hunt you down? _ ’ He had asked her.

And he was almost offended when she answered with a blunt ‘ _ yes, I think I do. _ ’, as she stared at his muddied robes, rumpled tie, missing shoe and leaf-covered tousled hair.

“Trust me, you have absolutely no idea!”

“Well, then.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “Why are you here? I didn’t ask for you to find me.”

“Potter asked, though. And his word is stronger than yours.”

“Congratulations,then. You found me.” She snarked. “Now you can go back from whence you came, and tell Harry I’m safe and sound.”

“You still didn’t answer why you’re dressed as a bowtruckle goddess!”

“It’s a hobby!”

“It’s absolutely not a hobby! Respect my intelligence, Granger!”

“Fine!” She sighed, and adjusted her perch on the tree stump, to carefully cradle some tiny bowtruckles near her. “It’s spring.”

“So what?” Draco crossed his arms, furrowing his brow.

“I’ve been researching bowtruckles and their culture recently.” Hermione seemed unfazed by the angry man before her. “To better regulate and improve the legislation around wandwood harvest... When I encountered this bowtruckle tribe, well…”

Hermione gestured to the fifty or so Bowtruckles that surrounded her ( _ and probably many more hidden in the trees, Draco imagined _ ) dancing, singing, drinking tree sap, feasting on insects and ripe fruits, playing with the does and the disgruntled half-kneazle. A picture of complete carefree happiness. 

“It wasn’t like that when I arrived, weeks ago. These bowtruckles were in the middle of a war with another tribe! An incredibly violent and cruel enemy tribe at that. There were so many fallen bowtruckles, and the injured survivors! Some of which might never fully recover!” She said, cradling a bowtruckle near her chest. The creature had a bandage strip holding one of his twiggy limbs together. "They were fighting because they need more territory for the mating season, during spring."  


Draco almost laughed, thinking it was a joke. But the doe eyes of the masked witch, brimmed with unshed tears, revealed that she was deeply saddened by the inner conflicts of magical creatures.

“I had to do something! I couldn’t just let the bowtruckles kill each other!”

“And how does dressing up as a nymph solve your problem?”

“Because this is a Vinewood bowtruckle goddess!” She answered bluntly, but at least had the sense of looking sheepish when Draco glared at her. “There’s a book in the Ministry’s Archives about Bowtruckles culture and their relationship with wand wood.”

Hermione got up from the tree stump she was lying on so that she could rummage her tiny beaded bag, in search of the aforementioned book. With each movement she made, her thin linen robes and the draped silken cloth seemed to glide in the air, as well as the flowers on her hair swayed and floated, in a strange and ethereal vision. Like the forest’s air was helping the muggleborn act as their deity.

After a minute or so, she let out a triumphant ‘ _ Aha! _ ’ and presented the thick tome with yellowed paper to Draco. “Here it is.” She said, as she opened the book and flipped through the pages in search of the Vinewood Bowtruckles’ tribes. She then promptly showed him the picture of a goddess, looking much similar to how Hermione was looking at the moment: linen dresses that floated in the air, silk cloths and an antlered doe face, with golden horns.

“This is the goddess of vines, nurture and vision. And with my imposing presence, and a bit of magic, me and some of the bowtruckles set up some traps around these woods. To protect our territory.” The faux goddess smirked deviously, knowing the man had come across the traps, and Draco merely huffed in annoyance. “I managed to drive away the invading bowtruckles. It was the only way I had to make sure that these little ones remain unharmed!”

“Shouldn’t you be impartial in the conflicts of nature?” Draco asked, glaring daggers at the little bowtruckles.

“I can’t!” Hermione gasped, and the little plant creatures that surrounded her huddled together to hug her feet, seeking protection. “The Vinewoods are near extinct! They need my protection!”

“And what about the other tribe?”

“They come from Hawthorn trees. There are hundreds and hundreds of them!”

Draco sighed and pressed the ball of his hand against his eyes, trying to wrest away a headache unsuccessfully. “Fine then. And when will you come back?”

“When spring ends. In about two months or so.”

“Absolutely not! You’re coming with me right now!”

“Malfoy! The bowtruckles need me!”

“They don’t, Granger! It’s survival of the fittest. Nature is cruel and you should know that already!” He barked, and then insisted. “Now let’s go! Potter will have my head if I come back empty handed.”

She said nothing. Her only response was to cross her arms, lift her chin and turn around, swaying her hips with a confident stride, settling back into her tree stump. Posed like she was sitting on a throne, with her dark and long hair framing her face like a veil. Crookshanks perched at her side, like a regal lion resting next to his queen.

So beautiful, yet so stubborn.

“Well, then.” Draco tried his hand as a diplomat, with an idea already brewing in the back of his mind. “At least give me the book. I’ll take it back with me, as proof that you’re alive and well, and that you’ll be back when spring ends.”

Even though she looked skeptical, she had no reason to deny his request. Draco bid his farewell, putting the book under his arm and walking away, mildly irked by the sensation of stepping on dirt and mud with one of his feet bare.

\-----

Three days had passed, and Hermione had forgotten about her unpleasant interaction with Malfoy. 

She danced and twirled with the wind, sang old rhythms of dryads and forest spirits and woven flower crowns into her hair. Her little tribe of bowtruckles thrived, grew and flourished, blessing the trees and bushes with their ethereal magic. 

Their festivities, however, were cut short by the menacing and loud sound of banging drums and aggressive melody of crude trumpets in the distance, rapidly approaching Hermione’s clearing. So much different from the softer whistles of their flutes and the soothing sounds of their harps.

At the edge of their clearing, an army of thorny-looking bowtruckles, as well as some badgers, boars and ravens marched in their direction, followed by a tall figure, dressed in a black mantle, with a wine-red shawl draped on his broad shoulders. His pale blond hair was adorned by a crown of thorns, and his face was covered by an elk mask, black with silver antlers. Yet, Hermione could recognize those grey eyes peering at her brown ones from anywhere.

“Malfoy!” Hermione hissed, stomping her way through to confront their visitors. “What are you doing?!”

“Leveling the playing field.” His eyes had a mocking glint in them, and Hermione knew that he had an infuriating smirk behind the mask. “The god of Hawthorns have also graced these woods with his presence, you see?”

“You’re a psychopath!” She threw her hands in the air, turning around when she heard wary chirps and whines coming from the bowtruckles she had sworn to protect. “You want to see these tiny creatures fighting to the death?”

“I want to bring you back home, Granger. If a couple of twigs' lives are on my way, then so be it.”

“They aren’t twigs!”

Draco simply shrugged, showing his uninterest in the taxonomy of the plant fae. “You’ll come with me, be it willing or not.” The thorny bowtruckles at his feet advanced a single step, in a choreographed unison, in a show of their power as an army unit.

The viney bowtruckles shuddered in fear. Their numbers were much smaller, and their minds and bodies had been caught off guard from the prospect of a battle. Hermione frowned and balled her fists with determination.

“Well, I am not willing.”

She pulled out her ‘ _wand_ ’, gifted to her by the oldest and most respected bowtruckle of the tribe. It wasn’t an elaborate nor ornate wand at all, in fact, it even lacked a core. Truly, it was just a strong and sturdy vine branch. 

A real wand was unnecessary for Hermione to stand her ground, though. The magic of bowtruckles, dryads, nymphs and even gods were infused in the air and in the woods she had been residing, and it wouldn’t be hard at all to just shoot hexes and curses out of the tips of her fingers.

So really, the vine branch was just a symbol of her obstinance.

Draco hesitated. He was counting with the chance of Granger seeing sense ( _ for once in her life _ ) and backing down from her mission of saving every single underdog life form that had ever existed, but perhaps he had underestimated how much of a Gryffindor she still was.

Hermione may accuse him of being a psychopath, but he wasn’t actually considering inciting a full blown battle out of forest creatures, he had just wanted to force her hand a bit. He sighed, and straightened his back.

“Okay, Granger. How about a deal?”

“Go on...” She said, without lowering her branch.

“We duel. If I win, I get to take you home, and we let nature decide if these vine bowtruckles are strong enough to stand their ground.” He said simply. “And if you win, you get to stay here until the end of spring, and I’ll take back my army of Hawthorns away from your Vines.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You have my word.”

“Well, then.” She smirked, walking towards another clearing, away from the village of bowtruckles as to not produce collateral damage from their fight. “It will be my pleasure to kick your ass.”

They didn’t need much preparation for the duel. They just needed to stand at the opposite ends of the clearing, and bow in an act of respect for each other.

“I’ll go easy on y-” Draco had started in a mocking voice, but was interrupted by a flock of angry yellow canaries conjured by the witch without hesitation. The duel had already started, after all.

With a grunt and a flick of his hawthorn wand, Draco managed to dispel and dissolve the birds pecking at his arms. He soon followed by a spell that sent Hermione up in the air, making her yelp in fear and tumble down into the ground when she cancelled the jinx.

The witch tried casting a stunning spell on the man, but he easily blocked it, and he returned with a scorching jinx that she managed to dodge in the last second.

They were evenly matched, firing and blocking multiple curses, jinxes and hexes in the short amount of time since the duel had started. 

Hermione parried the stinging hex coming her way with the vine branch, but the force of the other's blow was too strong. Her branch snapped, and Draco smirked under his mask, taking the opportunity to fire another curse, but before he could do that, he was tackled by his opponent, collapsing together to the ground.

Her golden antlers locked together with his silver ones, and she used the momentum to pin the man to the ground, straddling him with her legs and grabbing forcefully at his arms. Draco had let out a startled gasp, having his air knocked out of his lungs, but manage to recover enough of his strength to return an energetic shove with his antlers against Hermione’s own, breaking both of their ceramic masks and revealing both of their angered ( _ and yet, still human _ ) faces.

They remained still for a long time. With Malfoy underneath Granger’s body. Both panting because of the exertion. Both glaring at each other’s eyes with intense fury, each expecting the other to make a move. To continue their duel and settle their match.

Draco grinned, in a way that Hermione couldn’t quite comprehend. His smirk didn’t carry the malice and smugness that it usually did. In a way, it almost seemed like an innocent smile, of someone actually enjoying their afternoon.

He made a sudden movement, freeing his arms from Granger’s hold, and grabbed her waist with his hands. With a heave and a haul, the wizard inverted their positions, now pressing his larger frame against her much smaller one, his face now hovering only a few inches above hers.

Hermione fluttered her eyes close and lifted her chin, bringing their faces now even closer. She wasn’t completely sure what she expected the wizard to do ( _ she wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to do anything at all! _ ) but she was disappointed when she felt nothing for a minute, only the warm escaped breath, coming out of his nose when he snorted a laugh.

She opened her eyes and raised one brow, in a silent question. 

Draco leaned in, ( _ finally! _ ) closing the space between them. And Hermione immediately responded, with rough and urgent passion, grabbing and pulling the black garbs of her opponent. The wizard took his time exploring the witch’s body with his hands, as well as explored her mouth with his tongue, now battling for dominance in a different way.

She gasped his name when he nipped at her flesh and he moaned in a low rumble when he felt her hips lifting and pressing up against his, separated only by their cloths and dresses. He groaned in his response, pulling apart the white and blue fabric.

They were too preoccupied with each other to notice that the forest had quieted down, abruptly. No bird or cicada dared to chirp or sing. No winds nor breezes moved to hustle the tree leaves. The bowtruckles from both of the opposing tribes had all scurried away far from the duel grounds, as soon as two tall and ethereal entities emerged from a cold mist.

“Children.” The goddess dressed in white and blue spoke, with an airy laugh that almost sounded like bells. And the other god, dressed in his black and red garb cleared his throat, sounding like a thunderous storm.

The witch and the wizard stopped their activities to look up, with widened eyes. Realizing that the two antlered figures that stared at them were not quite human.

Hermione gasped in horror and kicked Draco away from her, scrambling to her feet, pulling and adjusting the fabrics of her dress, trying to cover herself more properly. Patting down her disheveled hair and removing the wildflowers and blades of grass that had gotten stuck on it. She felt her face warming with what she was sure was a mortifying flush. Were she a real deity, she’d probably will the ground below her to open and swallow her whole.

Draco for his part, managed to hide his embarrassment in a carefully crafted aloof expression. He slowly raised himself from the ground, being careful to use his thick robes to hide away the lower parts of his body. He remained still, with his head held up high before the real gods, not even bothering with his equally messed and leaf-littered hair.

“Usually.” The darker figure started, with a menacing air around him. “We’d punish profane acts such as these.”

“But you’ve provided us great entertainment.” The other added, with a carefree laugh. “As long as you promise to go your way, and not attempt to do this again, we will let you go.”

Draco nodded solemnly, afraid that he would offend the deities further if he tried to say anything, but when he looked at Hermione, he almost groaned in frustration, as he recognized the glint of curiosity in her eyes .

“Are you the real deities then? Of bowtruckles?” Hermione asked, after taking a few minutes to gather her courage.

“Yes. And dryads, huldras and some druids, aswell. Though our worshippers have been few and far between throughout the millennia.”

“And what will happen to the vinewood bowtruckles?”

“I’ll protect them, of course!” The goddess said with a smile, and the other god huffed as if he wanted to disagree, but was interrupted by his companion. “You have a good heart, child. I thank you for your aid, but you can return to your home now.”

“But I have so many questions!”

“You heard them, Granger.” Draco finally bit out, grabbing her arm gently, but firmly, and taking her away from deities, back into the animal tracks that would lead them out of the woods. Hermione tried to protest at first, but she relented in the end, following the blond wizard with a more subdued nature.

“You had to come with me anyway, Granger.” He said with a smirk, and she looked at him confused.

“I mean, I won the duel!”

“You absolutely did not!” She snarked, but a hint of a smile was forming on her face. “The duel was interrupted! We can call it a draw, at best!”

“Well then, we’ll need to have a rematch soon!” He had a glint in his eyes that wasn’t unattractive.

“Sure. For the honour of the bowtruckles, of course.”

“Of course.” He smirked, placing a hand on her waist and touching the fabric of her rumpled dress. “And make sure to use this dress when we do. You have a very alluring way of dressing up for a  _ hobby _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> This could have been a smut if I wasn’t such a ~coward ~


End file.
